The Forging of Something More
by Doom Spectre
Summary: Emiya Shirou was forged from the flames into a sword. This is an undeniable fact. But what if a small change was all it took for something else to be forged instead?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

**I don't own the fate series. **

**(If you didn't already know)**

**Author's note:**

**So...this is my first attempt on a fanfiction. I hope that you will keep in mind that im purely writing off my experience from reading. My only request is that you dont flame for no reason. Helpful flames though, I will accept with open arms. Now, lets begin.**

* * *

**Story start**

* * *

It was hell.

That was the only way to describe what was before me.

Fiery flames that engulfed entire buildings surrounded me. The recent forest fire on the news didn't even seem to hold a candle to the burning inferno that spanned as far as my eye could see.

I could feel the heat seeping into my blistered skin. It was a testament to how searing hot the fire was.

Countless hazards were lurking around me. Falling debris, jagged uneven terrain, not to mention the sooty smoke from the fire that constantly entered my lungs.

My breathing was ragged and irregular. The beginning signs of lung failure.

My clothes were tattered and torn. What was once a white shirt was now stained blood-red from the numerous cuts and gashes on my body.

My mind was in a haze. If I had to describe it, it was like trying to see past thick foliage or a dense fog.

My ears were ringing. I could hear my heart pounding furiously inside my chest.

Yet,

I could still hear the sorrowful wails of those who had their loved ones taken. Loud wails of anguish, sadness, grief and other emotions besieged my ears from all sides.

The strength of the wails however still paled in comparison to the cries, those desperate cries for salvation, cries that held frantic urgency tinged with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

_"Help me...I-I don't want to die like this..."_

Ah, I remembered.

It was...

**_Fear_**

Fear of death, fear of loss, fear of ruin, the very same fear...that was the first to be discarded from me.

Fear rooted me in place like shackles, left me powerless and unable to move. Without sparing a second thought, it was left behind in the flames.

Next was...

_**Disgust **and **Pain**_

Like fear, disgust and pain paralyzed me in place. Disfigured bodies, burning flesh, pools of blood, it all made me want to haul. A scraped knee, a few cuts and wounds were all it took for me to hesitate to take the next step.

I couldn't afford to haul or hesitate. Therefore, disgust and pain were discarded.

Even with fear and disgust gone, my body unable to feel physical injuries with pain gone, having a bleeding heart made it hard to move forward.

Until the turn came for...

_**Sadness, ****Pity **and **Guilt**_

Sadness was worse than fear, seeing familiar faces dying in front of me didn't just stop me like fear, disgust and pain. It attacked me mentally, leaving a hole in my heart. It made me want to give up all together, to cease my struggles and fall into the waiting hands of the grim reaper, just to be runited with the others in death.

Pity made me stop and help the dying who were suffering, only to realize too late that they were beyond help, sometimes even prolonging their suffering.

Guilt was a combination of both. It made me unable to turn a blind eye to those whose end were inevitable. Made me want to help them, not for them but to quell the guilt akin to sadness, that was clawing endlessly at my heart.

**_Joy_**

**_Anger_**

**_Apprehension_**

**_Kindness_**

**_Remorse_**

**_Grief_**

...were all thrown away without a moment's hesitation.

One by one, all my feelings and emotions were cast away. Precious memories of people and places accumulated throughout the short years of my life were disappearing. Be it good or bad, it didn't matter.

Each step led to me being less and less of a person and more of a hollow human-shaped piece of flesh in the guise of a kid.

It wasn't long before my sense of time left me.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, before my ability to form coherent thought was also lost to me.

All that was left of me was a broken husk acting on pure instinct, a blank slate desperately holding on to its final shred of emotion which was hope.

And even that hope, was slowly and surely being chipped away with each step.

With one final step, my body gave out. Collapsing backwards, I was slowly falling into the cold embrace of death.

Hope was fading away like the dying embers of a fire.

My eye lids were growing heavier by the second. Even so, I caught a glimpse of a pair of piercing-red eyes directly above me, eyes that held untold power, eyes that held endless contempt and oppresive arrogance, bearing down on me as if gazing upon an insignificant insect, as if I was just a tiny speck in existence.

_Hmph, _

_to be reduced to such a state..._

_how pitiful._

_Be grateful mongrel, for the king has seen your struggle and deem it entertaining enough for you to be granted a swift death._

Like magic, a simmering portal of gold appeared above me. Out of the portal, the blade of a sword extended out, piercing through my heart with inhuman speed, pinning me to the ground.

Even as I was impaled and bleeding heavily, I couldn't help but to admire the sword that ran through me even as I was coughing up blood.

It was a sword with a shiny gold hilt with an equally shiny gold guard that was shaped in an arc. The base of the blade had unreadable inscriptions inscribed onto it.

But what truly caught my eye was the blade itself. The shine of the blade told me that it was nothing short of a masterpiece even with my limited knowledge on the subject.

I could tell that it wasn't a normal sword, it practically radiated majesty, like it was alive with a will, like it was judging me.

_Be honoured that the king is willing to grant you this small mercy._

And with those parting words, the sword that was stuck in me vanished, dissipating into golden particles to be scattered by the wind among the embers of the great fire, leaving behind no trace of its owner and anything having occurred whatsoever.

It was unreal and unbelievable. The whole exchange couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds. The only proof that it wasn't a hallucination was the gaping hole in my heart that was bleeding profusely.

With my life along with my suffering nearing its end, I was slipping into blissful unconsciousness.

My final sight was that of a newcomer, I could barely make out a golden object in his hands and that he was saying something to me.

_"A fatal wound, and on top of that prana poisoning. This is bad, my only hope to save him would be..."_

That was all I heard before all sound left me.

'fatal wound', 'prana poisoning', and 'save',

I didn't know why, but these words strangely struck a chord in me.

Even if I would never wake into the living world again, even if it was all going to be remembered as just a dream as I woke up, as the last of my consciousness left me, I couldn't help but wonder about the brilliant blade that stabbed me and the blinding golden object that radiated a familiar soothing and comforting warmth.

If I had been awake even a second longer, I would have felt that the gaping hole in my heart was miraculously closing and the cries of a man equally broken as me amidst the roaring of the blazing fire wouldn't have fallen upon deaf ears.

* * *

In a graveyard of flames, two souls had their self shattered and many more were cast away.

One was broken and became nothing, the other self destructed and was left with nothing. The only solace to be found was in each other.

Within the same ocean of flames, one was reforged from scratch, and the other reworked anew.

In flames, a hero fell and became a man.

With flames, the man was left with nothing.

From nothing, the boy was reforged.

Not as a sword, but something more.


	2. Chapter 1

Opening my eyes, I was greeted to the sight of an unfamiliar white ceiling.

My sense of smell was immediately assaulted by the smell of anesthetics synonymous with a hospital.

It took a few seconds for me to realize that no.

I was not dead after a stab to the heart.

Sitting up and propping my back against the bed, I could see the back of a man speaking to someone I couldn't see.

A moment later, the man noticed my apparent return to consciousness and was making his way towards me.

As he stood near the foot of my bed, I could finally take in his features.

He had sleek black hair and tanned skin. His dark black eyes were vacant and were strangely not out of place with his blank face. He had a lean build and was wearing a black trench with a black bag in one hand.

All in all, he looked like a man that had seen better days, eyes hiding a soul as broken as me, if not more so.

_"You're awake." _

The man stated, only to be met with silence.

A pause later, the man continued.

_"I'm Emiya Kiritsugu, the man who saved you from the fire."_

Another pause.

_"I suppose I'll come right out and ask you which you would prefer."_

_"Being sent off to an orphanage, or being taken in by a man you just met."_

Tilting my head slightly to the side, I furrowed my brows in contemplation, weighting both options.

A minute of deliberation later, I lifted a finger and pointed at Kiritsugu.

The effect was immediate, his eyes lit up and a small smile broke out on his face.

Placing his bag down. The man spoke.

_"I'm glad. Then let's get you dressed right away. You need to get accilimated to your new home as soon as possible. Do you remember your name?"_

"Shirou."

I replied, the name flowing into my mind naturally. Unzipping his bag, the man resumed.

_"Shirou huh, well Shirou I forgot to mention something you should know."_

Turning to look me in the eye, he dropped the bombshell.

_"I'm a magus."_

The utter seriousness in his eyes left no room for doubt.

And that was how I became Emiya Shirou, adopted son of the 'Magus Killer'.

* * *

Kiritsugu was many things. He was...

a reputable mercenary,

a killer,

a loving husband,

a father who dotes on his daughter,

a fighter of justice,

a hero.

***Beep***

One would think with the impressive number of titles and years under his belt as a mercenary, he could afford to make a simple meal.

***Beep* *Beep* *Beep***

"U-um dad? I d-dont think the microwave is suppose to be sounding like that..."

***Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep***

***Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep***

And just like that, the microwave combusted.

"Shirou! Grab the fire extinguisher!"

"Already on it!"

* * *

A fire extinguisher and two chinese takeouts later.

He was sitting on the porch of his traditional Japanese-styled house, overlooking his garden with the blazing sun hanging above him.

Taking a few sips of tea, he sat it down and let out an exasperated sigh.

That was the third microwave this week. He was fortunate that he managed to save up a small fortune during his time as a mercenary. Otherwise he and Shirou would most likely be living on the street by now.

Speaking of his adopted son, his thoughts drifted to the recent months.

After adopting Shirou, he was quick to find out that the boy was broken just as much as he was. He barely spoke in the first few days, sometimes even staring off into empty space.

It wasn't until one day, with the intrusion of the neighborhood's friendly resident tiger, known as Fujimura Taiga that Shirou started to warm up.

He could still remember the look of surprise on his son's face as she barged right in, took one look at Shirou, and claimed the position of being his big sister before proceeding to drag him out of the house all the while proclaiming how it was 'unhealthy' to be coop up at home or how she didn't want Shirou to become a 'NEET'.

He couldn't be more glad that he befriended Taiga's father, Fujimura Raiga, the head of a yakuza group.

It was an added plus that Shirou was slowly worming his way into Raiga's heart with how he treated his daughter.

He remembered how he almost broke into tears of joy two weeks ago when his son called him 'Dad'. He was happy that Shirou had started to recover in no small part thanks to Taiga.

His son has even found something of a hobby if you could call it that.

Well...maybe it would be more appropriate to call it an interest.

Shirou had stumbled upon one of the many history books he had used as research in the grail war for an insight to the potential identity of enemy servants.

The book he stumbled upon coincidentally turned out to be a book that detailed the legends of the various kings in history.

Like a kid on sugar, his son instantly got hooked. The next day, he boldly proclaimed to the world that he was going to be a king.

The resulting fit of teasing (courtesy of Taiga) and embarrassment (for Shirou) almost made him laugh out loud, keyword 'almost'.

Instead, a twitch of his lips was all he had to show for it.

He wondered how his 'servant' would react if she found out about this. Oh, the irony didn't escaped him.

In some ways, he could see some of himself in Shirou. Like how his son wanted to be a king, he too wanted to be a hero.

Just recently, he had to save the boy from a trio of bullies as the boy had chewed off more than he could chew when he had decided to play the hero for the matou heir, 'Sakura' he recalled.

When questioned as to why, the boy simply said that he was just carrying out his duty.

To anyone else they would have praised the boy for doing the right thing, find it cute even. He could agree with them too.

However, more than that, it was worrying. He spotted the same identical developing tendencies he had as a kid that made him who he was today in Shirou.

Oh, of course he knew it wasn't exactly the same. His son aspired to be a king than a hero after all. But from what he knew of kings, he found that he didn't like what awaited for them at the end of their path much.

He just prayed Shirou wouldn't end up like him.

He didn't fancy knowing what would happen to someone who broke more than once.

A sudden wave of pain brought him out of his thoughts. The pain was great enough that a lesser man would probably be trashing and screaming on the ground. He was many things, a lesser man though, he was not. So, he clenched his teeth and endured the agony, waiting to ride out the pain.

A few minutes later, the pain subsided. With a breath of relief, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

This wasn't the first time it happened. The curse of the corrupted grail was a formidable curse. It worked like a potent poison, slowly killing him from the inside. It was the cause of his fits of pain. The pain though didn't bother him that much, what bothered him though, was the constant reminded of what he had fought for, only to find out it didn't exist in the first place. It was also a constant reminder of his losses in the war, the biggest being he couldn't save Illyasviel.

His constant failed attempts to break into the Einzbern castle and rescue Illya didn't help matters.

Letting out a hollow laugh, he couldn't help but think if the stuck-up nobles in the clocktower could see him now, they would probably be rediculing him saying "how the so-called 'Magus Killer' had fallen" with their noses high up in the air.

Some of them might even attempt to get their revenge, most probably in the form of blood either from him or his son. He had made many enemies during his mercenary days after all.

"Hey dad, can you teach me magecraft please?"

Sighing for the umpteenth time and thanking the gods for a distraction he replied,

"You know we've already discussed this before, I want you to live a normal life, free of the burdens that come with being a magus."

It was his honest thoughts. He wanted to distance his son from anything magecraft related, and hope that he can live a relatively normal life even though it was looking more and more unlikely, given the similarities his son had with him.

"B-but dad! How am I suppose to be a king if I cant protect my people..."

"Taking up arms is not the only way to be a protector Shirou. Somtimes, there are better ways."

As the words left his mouth, he couldn't help but let his mind wonder to Illyasviel and to Illya.

"Like what?" Confusion lacing Shirou's words.

"By being there for them."

* * *

**A year later**

* * *

Shirou couldn't believe it. After a year of painstaking probing and him getting caught by Kiritsugu while attempting dangerous magecraft on his own by converting his nerves into magic circuits (he didn't know until Kiritsugu explained it to him), his father finally gave in to his request to teach him magecraft, if only to stop him from killing himself.

He couldn't wait!

With this, he would be one step closer to his dream to be a king.

Standing in the tool shed that was his father's improvised workshop. Shirou couldn't help but imagine all the things he could do with magecraft.

He could fly around the world, conjure money from thin air, ride magical horses into battle and other cool stuff.

He soon found out that his fantasies were only that, fantasies, when Kiritsugu explained to him that magecraft wasn't all 'sunshine and rainbows'.

Instead, with all seriousness he made sure Shirou understood,

_"To be a magus was to walk with death."_

He also had to promise to only use magecraft for the benefit of others and not disclose it to those who weren't already aware of it.

Furthermore, he was barred from practicing magecraft without supervision until deemed otherwise and only allowed to do so in seclusion as revealing the existence of the moonlit world, even accidentally, was punishable by death.

By then, he wasn't so sure anymore that learning magecraft was worth the hassle.

The more he heard, the more obvious it was to him that learning magecraft wasn't as easy as he thought.

It didn't help that with each passing second, his impression of magus society worsened until he was of the opinion that the magus society was full of jerks.

It certainly didn't help that Kiritsugu didn't correct him and instead gave a small laugh when he expressed his honest opinion.

And this was how Shirou's first of many magecraft sessions with his father began.

* * *

**3 years later **

**(5 years after adopting Shirou)**

* * *

"5 years huh, has it really been that long old man?" I asked, a hint of nostalgia in my words.

Sitting beside me on the porch overlooking the garden was Emiya Kiritsugu.

My savior,

My guardian,

My teacher,

But most importantly my father.

Hearing a chuckle I turned to face him.

"Indeed...and stop calling me old man. I'm only thirty-four." He replied.

Sipping our tea under the night sky, we fell into blissful silence.

This was a regular routine for Kiritsugu and me.

It helped to soothe our mind and souls, helping us relax our mind after a magecraft session.

On more than one occasion, it had also help calm my mind after a sleepless night full of nightmares replaying my time in the fire, or the occasional weird dreams I couldn't make head or tails of.

For Kiritsugu, it helped to ease his mind, which in turn made it easier to deal with his illness somewhat.

Tonight though, it was special. I didn't know why but one glance at the moon was all it took to reafirm my gut feeling. The moon was rounder and fuller than it had ever been.

"When I was little, I wanted to be a hero of justice." said Kiritsugu, breaking the tranquil silence.

"Wanted? As in used to?" I asked, confusion lacing my words.

"Yeah."

"Did you give up?" I pressed on.

His silence told me all I needed to know.

"Why?" I asked, the disappointment in my tone evident.

"It's unfortunate, but being a hero...is a limited-time thing. When you grow up, it gets hard to call yourself one."

Sipping his tea, my actions mirrored him.

"Hmph, since you couldn't do it, I'll do it for you. You're an adult now, so you can't do it. But I can, and I choose to not follow your dream but to go beyond. Instead of a hero, I will strive to be more. You can leave it to me...your dream, it is a king's duty to save after all.

Hearing my words, his shoulders relaxed, as if he was relieved of a great weight.

His eyes were strangely no longer vacant and his face settled into a peaceful expression. Gone was the broken man in the fire. Closing his eyes, he drew his final breath.

_"A king huh...spoken like a true king."_

And with that, the 'Magus Killer' was no more.


End file.
